The Bones You Gave Me
by LadyEmiMarie
Summary: Camille , having been called heartless, recounts her memories of 1870's London: The time of her greatest love and her greatest loss.
1. Prologue

The air smelt of freshly cut grass. And petrol. With the scent of it strong in the air I felt like the townhouse could go up in flames any second. On some level that was why I chose it. Maybe I was getting tired of _faking_ my death. For a while now, I'd felt empty. There was a dull kind of silence among the bustling city noise. As though all the chatter around me was muffled by some unseen blanket.

_"They were like children to me"_ I heard my own voice choke out; and saw again the bodies of my fallen subjugates crashing before me. I gracelessly shoved my hand against the heavy door I'd finally reached, which took some effort to creek open. When I entered the hall and left the door to shut on its own accord. The room was silent but in my mind I heard the sound of chains being broken and saw the glowing blade which freed me.

Now I found myself alone listening to the soft taps of my heeled shoes on hardwood floors. I found it is surreal being there, I suddenly felt as if I didn't know where I was. As if I didn't belong there. And of course I didn't, I was Lady Belcourt, who belonged far from typical rented accommodation, surrounded by her luxuries. And her lovers.

It didn't feel right to be stood there alone. Why should I be alone? I don't deserve to be alone.

_"If love were food, I would have starved on the bones you gave me."_

The words could still cut deeply into me.

_"I __**love**__" _I had told him, so many years ago.

I love.

I reached the living room and curled up into myself on the soft settee, made comfortable from other's use.

I love.


	2. Servants Gained, Lovers Lost

I am strong enough to eat real food and to say the name of God in any language I choose. Yet somehow to this day, I cannot say _his_ name. The first name of the most treasured lover I have ever had.

While he lived I'd whispered it like my deepest secret, called it out like joyous news, moaned it like it was the only word I knew. Now, dear reader, it is too painful for me to recall. The most I can manage is 'Mr Scott'.

Oh... He was a delightful creature. It didn't matter that our races were natural enemies; me a child of the Night and he of the Moon. His company elated me and with every step we took in unison, with every look and touch between us, I felt a little more alive again. He knew how to infuriate me and make my cold blood boil. At first I mistook what I felt for hatred. I couldn't stand to be around him. He was persistent with me and knew better than I did that it wasn't hate at all. He knew before I did that I had fallen in love with him. I didn't avert my gaze because he disgusted me, I did it because he made me feel shy. With any other man I could flirt and manipulate with ease. He was different. I didn't want Mr Scott to know Lady Camille Belcourt like everybody else. I wanted him to know Camille. Just Camille.

He was my greatest romance. He sent me love letters, we read French poetry together and took walks in the parks under the starlight. He didn't mind sleeping through the daytime every now and then so he could be there when I woke up in the evenings.

Over the weeks he stayed with me more and more, his belongings were accumulating all about the house. He had suits in my wardrobes, razors in my bathroom, books on my shelves. I had my subjugate Archer hide my silver. Silver is a danger to Lycanthropes, so from cutlery to jewellery it was banished to the basement.

Archer was dutiful about it as he was in all I asked of him. This is what made subjugates so much more convenient than ordinary hired Mundanes. The only trouble is that they become so attached to their Masters. That was something I had to deal with though. When I realised how a Mr Scott was beginning to take semi-permanent residence in my home I decided that it was time to obtain more help. With another person around I would need to have a second pair of hands in service.

That second pair of hands belonged to Walker; a man who frequented the Pandemonium club with many burning questions and card playing that left something to be desired. In my short time knowing him I had found this of his character: He was thoughtless, easily lead, and afraid to die. Which is why I knew that even after drinking from me he wouldn't be able to face the grave. As expected, he would rather live forever as a subjuate then die for his eternal freedom.

Archer resented our newcomer He was possessive over me because I'd had him in my life for such a very long time. My lovers he'd come to accept but he couldn't comprehend why I needed another servant.

He was in a fowl mood the rainy night Walker appeared on my doorstep. Mr Scott had raised an eyebrow to me when he came to the parlor to begrudgingly announce I had a visitor.

"If I'd known you were expecting somebody..." He began and got out of his seat, I placed a hand on his before he took up his stick. He didn't need it to walk, it was just the fashion those days for a gentlemen to have one.

"This won't take long. Just a moment." I smiled, with a pleading glance imploring him not to go back to his pack for the night. He smiled and kissed my cheek.

"I'll go to the study if you'll be done soon," he told me as he exited.

"I will, I promise."

No sooner than he had left, the visitor entered. His hair was wet from the rain outside and he looked absolutely terrified.

It isn't uncommon for Mundanes to become so fascinated with the Downworld that they wish to join us. Ordinarily, I would have put the idea from Walker's head, knowing the ill-conceived notions on eternal life that people often carried. Thinking it must be wonderful when it was nothing of the sort. But this time I'd seen an opportunity in it and offered my blood for the cause of his turning.

The room had been silent for a few moments, save from the ticking clock on the mantle. His eyes began to dart around and tell of his inward panic. I decided to offer him a little explanation, though it would be a lie to say I didn't toy with him a little. Where would be the fun otherwise?

"It wouldn't do you any good to die among Mundanes, so you came to find me."

At this point he swayed as though deprived of oxygen. I briefly wondered if he'd forgotten to breathe in his shocked state.

"Die?" he choked out, snapping back to an upright position and swallowing audibly, "you didn't say anything about-"

"I thought needn't have explained; there's a reason we are 'the living dead' and not simply 'the living'", I continued with nonchalance. He sucked in a breath.

Now… Am I a misleading person? Did I force this man into servitude? I choose to think not. I could easily have used the persuasion to make him one of mine; but Walker made his own choice. He drank from my veins the second time that night. He gave himself into my service out of fear of the unknown.

In a matter of weeks the arrangement didn't even scare him so much. He began to – as all of them do for their Masters – crave my attention, even my presence, just as much as he craved my blood. It was a delicate stage for setting up boundaries which I had forgotten about. You have to keep a far enough distance so that they don't begin to expect romantic affection, but close enough that they don't feel rejected.

Some didn't bother with this; some kept their followers completely enamored with them, some didn't care how their followers felt and just lived their lives as per usual. I preferred a friendlier approach, though, as some distant memory of a Camille in her girlhood would occasionally crop up and remind me that I was always happy when on good terms with my parent's staff.

I was doing a well enough job at keeping the balance right; Mr Scott came to visit me frequently so I wasn't short on ways to spend my time. He was wonderful. He made me feel alive. So alive that I sometimes felt the ghost of warmth on my skin when we were close together, even when I shouldn't have been able to feel temperature.

We were of two different races. Natural enemies. But from that sprung an intense passion that connected us. It was exciting to be with him. It was exciting to be seen publicly with him. He kept me tremendously entertained and well occupied in body and mind. My half-life was never dull.

Every time we stepped into De Quincy's home gazes would turn to us, just barely concealing their distaste. The master of the house himself was prone to sneer when greeting the man I introduced as my lover, if he did not ignore him completely. It didn't matter to me. I still drank and danced and was happy. Having the status which I did, the others there knew better than to try to stop me.

At least, I'd thought they had.

Finding out that those people had... killed him... shattered my world. The colours seemed to dull, scent and taste to neutralize I would not leave the house, and occupied my time with nothing at all. My mind felt strangely busy though it was devoid of thought.

He'd been staying with his pack a while and I'd been looking forward to seeing him again. Knowing that would never happen shook me to the core. The night he was due to return to me I had Archer bring his usual drink to the parlor. I sat where I always did and stared into the glass until the early hours of the morning when the subjugate returned to retrieve it.

"He didn't come, Archer?" I asked with hope in my voice, though hope for what I didn't know. Archer remained silent. We both did for a time until he offered to help me prepare for bed. But I spent that entire day laying awake there and listening for the door.

Nobody called.


	3. Magnus Bane

We had spoken occasionally before, but it was still difficult to fathom his reason for approaching when he was little more than acquaintance of mine. I'd always thought him to be a somewhat brash individual, so despite not knowing his reasons, I wasn't particularly surprised when he took a seat beside me and initiated conversation.

"Evening Lady Belcourt"

"Magnus Bane"

I was only mildly interested in the game the warlock was intruding upon. Still, social interaction had no appeal to me either. Since the death of my last lover I felt a disinterest in all surrounding me, and momentarily wondered why I left the house at all when dusk had settled that evening.

"I didn't expect you to come back so soon after what happened".

I'd yet to regard him properly, but I saw purple fabric and tanned skin when he took the hand of cards he'd been dealt. It was fortunate for Night Children that paleness was a mark of beauty and wealth, and the good breeding that came with it; I suspected that not much could be said for Magnus' breeding. 'Perhaps,' I supposed, 'that would explain his utter lack of tact'.

You may call me judgemental, but when 'what happened' entails the unjust murder of a woman's lover, I do think it is in bad taste to bring it up in casual conversation.

He seemed to think he was being sympathetic, though, and when I glanced up from my own cards to meet his eyes I found something genuine there. I was intrigued by it. When one is immortal, one is surrounded by death; it was the kind of thing that just had to be accepted somehow. Something we learnt to move past. Why the condolences? Over the death of a mortal who was bound to die quickly anyway.

"Why dwell on the past? I have a long future" I offered in response, returning my gaze to the table and hoping that he wouldn't press the matter further. I didn't want to discuss it. I didn't really want to talk at all.

"You'd want to forget all of the past?" He asked, with a hint of surprise in his tone.

"I live in the present" I replied curtly, abandoning the game and getting up from my seat, no longer willing to indulge him. Putting up a disinterested front was difficult when all I really wanted to do was mourn. I told myself not to, over and over again… Everything died. He was always going to die.

When I left the table, I felt Magnus' feline gaze follow me away, but it barely impacted on me when I was so used to being watched. A sallow faced doorman let me outside into the gardens, and I kept occupied with considering whether the breeze that blew would feel warm or cold, were I affected by temperature any more.

It seemed about midnight, which meant I had hours to pass until dawn would approach; when I needed to return home.

Everything seemed to bathe in eerie blue light and I almost missed the way the flowers would have looked in the sunlight. I'm sure I would have missed it if I had been able to remember how anything looked in sunlight. Things like that, which I once held dear, had a way of disappearing completely from recollection in what seemed like no time at all. How could I not be frustrated that the memory of the Wolf I'd loved so passionately wouldn't simply wipe itself away with the memory of the flowers and everything else I was fond of?

I couldn't erase thoughts of him and I couldn't understand why. He was only supposed to be an amusement, a flight of fancy...

"He was", I concluded, "I just wasn't done with him. That's all. That's why I feel like this."

I guided my gloved fingertips over the petals of a rose blooming in the bushes, finding I still felt forlorn even though I'd 'deduced' the root of my emotional turmoil.

The great door behind me opened again, casting a wedge of golden candlelight amongst the blue. Somebody else stepped out. I didn't turn to face them, already having a feeling I knew who it was. It was silent for a few long moments.

"It's freezing out here..." Said Magnus as he took a few steps towards me. Funnily enough, I'd thought the air would be warm, "people will gossip if you sneak outside alone."

"And they won't gossip if shortly after a man comes to join me in private?" I countered.

"Touché".

I turned, at last, to face him; he was smiling and everything he said seemed to be in a good humour I just couldn't understand. The only thing I found remotely entertaining at this point was his appalling pronunciation of French. I decided to be direct with him.

"What is it you want?"

"Nothing in particular."

I internally groaned. First he wouldn't stop talking, then he became cryptic. I ventured another question.

"Then why the persistence?"

"Because you interest me" he stepped forward again, it was more obvious at standing that he was quite a bit taller than me. I stared forward all the same, my gaze was only met with the fabric of a shirt that hadn't been in fashion for a century or so. My thoughts kept drifting elsewhere, and at the same time to nothing at all. I just felt empty.

I tried to remain on task; and lifting my face to take in his, found myself looking into his eyes again. It was then, when we were all alone and in such close proximity, that I first saw the glint of desire in the yellow-green orbs. It was then that the games between us began.

Because interest for the sake of interest was something which I could understand in Magnus. Something which I could identify with. I had spent my life as a Downworlder taking up lover after lover and subjugate after subjugate in the name of pure interest. I've been known to take possession of whatever catches my eye. Of course, it helps if what catches my eye just so happens to be looking at me as though he were a predator.

Unfortunately for him, I enjoyed a chase. It would have been much too easy to simply give him everything his gaze told me he wanted. I barely contained a smirk. A new man in my life would be just what I needed to take my mind away from the one which had been taken from me.

We were still looking one another in the eyes when I began to stand on my toes to bring my face closer to his. He moved closer, too, but before our lips could meet I took a long inhale and sighed audibly before looking away.

I took care to appear apologetic when I looked back to him, now standing flat on the ground. A spark of pleasure flashed within me when I saw the awkwardness he felt at being rejected; but it was important to ignite his hope in our future relations.

"I'm sorry; I would have loved to. But I need something more than kisses in the dark."

With no hesitation the look of desire softened and became sympathetic. Apparently he felt some guilt for coming to me when I was in a vulnerable position. Interesting.

He offered his arm and led me back inside where I told him I planned to go home and began to head for the exit. Before I could take back my arm I realised that Magnus had a light grip on my wrist, just enough to prevent me pulling away. I was about to demand an explanation when he spoke smoothly into my ear.

"I wasn't trying to take advantage of you".

It was sweet, really. So I smiled brightly, and told him that I knew he wouldn't have, and wished him goodnight before I left. This time I wasn't followed or stared at - by him at least - as I made my way out to my carriage.

I'd left Walker to wait for me that evening rather than taking him in for refreshment. When I was going through the difficulty of realising Mr Scott was forever lost he became so much happier than he'd been before. It had angered me. I'd banished him from my sight for a time and though I'd allowed him to return to my side for the sake of maintaining our closeness, I still felt the need to teach him where he stood.

To no avail, it seemed. I still got the impression as he held the door open that he was exerting a lot more self-restraint than pleased me. I ignored the hand offered to help me step inside, but duly thanked him for doing his job. It wasn't as if I detested him, after all.

Soon we were moving, I got tired of watching pitch black and areas of cobblestone lit by gaslight and closed the curtain, knowing that it would be a long night without good company.


	4. Let The Games Begin

Once I understood his physical attraction to me it wasn't difficult to dazzle Magnus into infatuation. I'll confess to it; I was dreadfully flirtatious. At the same time, I found the more I'd gotten to know the man the less I needed to feign my interest. I was drawn to him and his exotic appearance. He hadn't many possessions to his name but he had such vast experience to speak of. He seemed to look at life from an entirely different perspective than the majority. This meant that we had differing opinions on most matters but in an odd way I found this complimented my own less accepted views. We were like-minded in our failure to be like-minded.

I was frightened, at first, with the ease at which I had come to take a liking to him. I feared letting him know how much I'd come to value his company. Magnus was like a gripping book which I didn't want to put down. He didn't react to me as other people did. He had a unique character I felt the need to dissect and understand. My interest was, at long last, peaked, after such a long time of finding all around me monotonous.

The danger in this, of course, is that people can use affection against you. Magnus was incredibly likable yet somehow, he wasn't well liked. The last time I'd grown fond of somebody the people in my circle disapproved of... Well I could hardly bare thinking of it.

Affection was dangerous business. Magnus, it seemed, had fallen for me fast. And I so wanted to reciprocate. But I cared too much to love him. If I'd loved him, they would have taken him from me. I knew it.

What then? He was immortal. I wouldn't even have been able to tell myself 'he was bound to die anyway'. Loving Magnus Bane could be a death sentence and was more selfish than I was willing to be.

I didn't confide these stronger feelings threatening to consume me to anybody but my subjugates. To Archer because he was so reliable; allowing me to prattle on about anything and everything at all. Never judgmental and always a comfort when need be. My strong steady pillar in a crumbling world. Walker I told to ensure that he knew where I was going of an evening and that there would be other men besides the one I lost. I felt cruel as he bore it through gritted teeth, but knew it was for the better. I had strung men along in the past and caused their hearts agony from having their love unreciprocated. But I cared for my subjugates like I supposed a Mother would. It was better to nip his feelings in the bud and cause as little pain as possible than to allow them to grow further.

He was still competitive though. I had taken Magnus back home with me one evening and the look Walker had given him while serving drink was venomous. I promptly dismissed him and made a mental note to reprimand him later.

Earlier on the Warlock and I had been enjoying a joke on the terrible card playing of some Mundane or another at Pandemonium; but now we'd fallen silent as he watched my subjugate leave. A tension seemed to hang in the air while he sized up the situation.

"They can get territorial over their Masters…" I offered by way of breaking the silence.

"I suppose he takes a disliking to all your company?" He was looking into his glass with an amused expression, his tone revealing he already knew the answer he was asking for. He seemed ready to enjoy a long process of drawing the desired reply from me. Not wanting to give him that satisfaction, I bluntly replied:

"He dislikes my lovers."

I smirked when I saw the look of surprise on his face. He wasn't expecting abruptness from me, it seemed.

I had been admiring the mantelpiece while I spoke to give the illusion I wasn't saying anything all that meaningful. When I looked to him over my shoulder I could see his mouth hung open slightly. He soon came out of his thoughts when he saw I was watching him watch me. He rose from his seat and came to join me by the fireplace, taking slow, deliberately casual strides and a drawling tone.

"What did _I_ do to earn filthy looks from him, then?" He said as he pretended to be deeply interested in the carved mantlepiece He lifted a porcelain ornament I was fond of as if to inspect it. I covered his hand with mine and placed the antique back down. We lingered this way.

They say that Warlocks are unnaturally hot; I wished that I feel that for myself.

"I think it has more to do with what you could do than what you have done, Magnus."

He took a deeper breath than usual, replying to me with a simple "Oh?" As though that ever counted as a real question. He had managed to draw out the conversation much longer than I'd planned to allow him. Annoying.

"If you don't have anywhere else to be tonight, I wouldn't object to more... prolonged company," I finally voiced. He paused a few seconds more.

"I can't say I have anywhere better to be, Camille." He grinned back.

Bloody half-breed. I couldn't help but feel he'd won that round.

* * *

Waking up when you aren't truly alive is different to the times before you turned into a child of the Night. It's almost as though you didn't sleep at all. When you don't breath you don't get the awful dry taste it makes in your mouth, when your curtains block out all light nothing seeps in to dance across your closed lids and disturb you, but right from the moment you become conscious you're aware of every sound and scent around you. You can't laze in the hazy glow of waking; if you do it's artificial.

Had I been mortal still, I might not have noticed I was sharing my bed, instead I instantly recognized that there was another there with me, and memories of the night before came rushing back to me.

The victorious grin on Magnus' face when I proposed he stay the night. The passion in the kiss that followed. The way I had to stand on my toes to reach his soft lips and how his long arms wrapped around my tightly laced waist to support me there.

He unpinned my hair as I caressed his face. My gloves were off and I could see the contrast of my milky skin on his darker tones. I felt my heavy locks fall past my shoulders as I looked into his gold green eyes, sparkling in the flickering light of the fire.

Why I ever lit it I don't know, and in all honesty I was beyond caring. The fire was forgotten, as were are drinks sitting on the ancient coffee table.

I kissed him again, unable to resist the tempting buzz I got from the contact, and had made up my mind. I couldn't permit myself to fall in love him. But I could make love to him and I could make him _feel_ loved.

That would be enough. A lover was something sexual; something they wouldn't bother to take from me. I could flaunt a passion in a way I couldn't show off a romance. It was the best way. They way it had to be.

It was the way we made it that night.

I turned to face him laid beside me, looking at peace and satisfied in his deep sleep. Much like a kept house-cat.

Something in that thought amused me in a rare girlish way I'd outgrown, and I giggled slightly, stroking his hair back. He stirred as a slow smirk crept across his face;

"You sound adorable when you do that", he rasped tiredly, still not opening his eyes.

"I wouldn't get used to it" I grimaced back. I was Lady Belcourt; Lady Belcourt didn't submit to childish chuckling.

He made a deep laughing sound somewhere in his throat and lifted himself up on his bare arms, stretching out. I just laid quietly appreciating his form. Magnus was quite something to behold.

When he did open his eyes he fixed his gaze on mine in an odd way, as if looking for something. It was strangely intense and bothered me, if only a little. I felt uncomfortable and sat up over the side of the bed. The sheet fell from me but from our present angles he couldn't see much but a silhouette; nothing profane.

I retrieved a silk nightgown and slid it on, the material so pale it might have been translucent had my skin been darker or had there been a stronger light source. Tying it closed - with ribbons above and below my breast, giving the garment it's empire waisted shape which had been popular in the Regency era - I glanced towards the source of light I hadn't noticed before. Candles had been lit but they burnt a sky blue.

I looked back at Magnus questioningly. He had laid back into a reclining position.

"We don't all see as well as you do in the pitch black", he snapped his fingers, creating more blue sparks as if to explain.

"The Warlock has some party tricks" I said simply, meanwhile drinking in the look of his uncovered chest. Sod the danger of fondness; getting this man into bed could be no bad move on my part.

"Oh plenty of them. But they usually only impress the Mundanes. I don't suppose you'd like to see me conjure up a card deck?" He asked bemusedly.

"Not particularly" I responded lightly.

"Or I could read your mind? Your favorite colour is... Green."

"Red," I corrected, and couldn't help that annoying giggle again.

"... Well I'm tired" he excused himself.

"If you say so darling."

And so I was the winner of round two.

* * *

**Double-chapter here, because alone they just seemed so short, but because of that I may take a little longer to update next; I have something I want to insert before I can carry on posting what is already written. **

**Thank you to anybody reading this, I hope it was enjoyable.**


	5. The Gift

"I have a gift for you..." Said Magnus at the dining table one night, looking unusually nervous in lounge clothes and disheveled hair. I couldn't think why, he'd given me gifts before. Pretty trinkets he thought I'd like; it was sweet of him, really, though I wasn't entirely sure that they were paid for. You never knew with Warlocks. Not that I much cared either way, Magnus wasn't stupid enough to conjure up anything which would be missed.

"Is there an occasion?" I asked, taking a sip from the blood in my glass. Fresh and warm - you could always tell even though temperature was nul against Vampires. Whenever I drank from humans I had to wonder why I didn't do so all the time.

Magnus didn't flinch when I drank, which wasn't so much of a given as you may think. You would probably be surprised by how many people take Night Children as lovers while being disgusted by the blood involved. Magnus was not one of those people. He never looked off-put when I drank; he rarely looked off-put at all. His gaze was that of quiet admiration. "Your presence makes everything an occasion, Camille."

"You're trying to flatter me..." I smiled knowingly behind the rim of the glass. Flattery was something I was very used to, rarely did it make me bashful as it would a girl more youthful. Instead I was intrigued as to weather he had a hidden agenda behind his words. He seemed genuine as ever, however. He always seemed to be unusually genuine. Everybody had their secrets and then some, but the Warlock _felt_ so openly.

I was surprised when he rose from his seat and came to kneel beside me. Surprised, and very much taken aback when he produced a black gift-box from his pocket. He must have sensed my alarm, before I could protest he rested a comforting hand on my thigh. Anybody else might have turned an unbecoming shade of pink from the intimacy, but I was not anybody else. I was more composed than that… Besides that, Vampires don't blush.

"No, no, it isn't like that." Magnus assured me. I felt myself becoming calmer knowing a proposal wasn't coming. I would have had to reject him, you see, and that would have been awful for both of us. I wasn't ready for that and I certainly wasn't prepared to take the name Bane at any rate.

Shallow? Perhaps. But the caste system was a shallow thing; I was a Baroness and he was untitled. In human terms, anyway. The Victorians wouldn't have been the least bit impressed that his Father was technically a Prince.

The eyes he'd inherited from said Father looked up at me earnestly; I smiled and took the box from him. It was weighty and when I lifted the lid it resisted.

"Magic." Said Magnus, snapping his fingers. This time when I lifted the lid it popped away with ease, releasing a sweet-smelling, scarlet smoke which glimmered in the candle-light. "So it wouldn't fall out."

When I saw what awaited inside the box I almost dropped the lid. It was a ruby red as the blood in my glass, set in gold and strung on a necklace. It was beautiful and seemed to pulse with a glow.

Quickly, I composed myself, flashing an encouraging look to Magnus by way of appreciation as l lifted the necklace from the box. When it turned in the air I saw that the back of it was inscribed with Latin. I read it aloud. "Amor vincit omnia..."

True love cannot die.

How bittersweet.

"It's lovely..." I said, words evading me. It wasn't often that happened but in the absence of anything eloquent to say I remained quiet and gave a nod to Walker. He came forward to fasten the trinket for me.

"May I?" Magnus asked. He rose and stood in my subjugate's way. Walker looked at him as if he'd taken deep offence to have been stopped in his duties. Looking back on it I could almost laugh.

"Certainly," I had said. I dismissed the servant and handed things over to Magnus. The gem became brighter when held in his hands.

"Deamonic energy," he explained while he walked behind me, the weight of the charm hit my chest lightly, "it can sense it."

"Your gift is a tracking device?"

"Think how dazzling it will shine at all those parties you go to." Magnus envisioned. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck as the clasp was fastened and I very nearly shivered.

Wearing a love token of Magnus' to a gathering, now there was a thought. The gift would be sure to draw attention. Just how would I play that off as a flight of fancy?

Our game was reaching a whole new, more challenging level as the feelings between Magnus and I grew. I stood to be embraced by him, he smelled like magic. His lips tasted like wine at first. Then of the blood fangs drew. Metallic as copper yet sugar-sweet and satisfying.

Somehow it was official now: a love we shared enough to profess aloud or engrave forever into gold. A love I was conflicted in. Determined to both hold on to it and keep it at bay.

Such thoughts, however, such decisions about how to proceed, could wait at least another night, another day.


	6. Memories

I was brushing my hair at the vanity table and humming to myself, feeling happy at long last.

Walker had come to terms with his inability to have me for his own; Magnus had been keeping me occupied and fulfilled without the other Night Children paying him much mind. De Quincy had deemed him 'ridiculous', but that had rather more to do with being rejected than it did an aversion to Magnus as a person.

It was becoming late - mid 'morning' by Vampiric standards - and the Warlock and I had an arrangement to meet. So as you can imagine I was getting rather dressed up.

It all went wrong when I opened that damned drawer. The table had several of them, slim things in vertical stacks on either side. I'd been looking for my necklace when I absently opened it. The drawer which was filled to bursting with my love notes.

Every slip of ornate paper was covered in the beloved handwriting of the Wolf that had been stolen from me. Resting at the front of the pile was the one note promising to visit me on what I could now only heartbrokenly refer to as 'the night he never came'.

Reader; I was broken. More broken than I think I have ever felt. My darling was barely settled into his grave - which I had never visited, for it was on consecrated ground - as I gallivanted about with some half-breed. I was smothering the flame of the love we'd shared with some new affair. What now stared me in the face now were faltering embers in the pile of ash my love had reduced to as I'd neglected it.

I sobbed tearlessly. I was horrible for trying to forget him. I loved him. I missed him terribly.

The drawer slid out completely and crashed to the ground where I soon joined it. I poured through the letters, skimming parts, dwelling on others, tossing each one asside before I took up the next. I felt frantic, like I had to absorb every last part of him that had been left to me.

My door opened abruptly and I could vaguely hear footsteps running in, but I was much too absorbed to really register them. I felt far too hysterical to care that somebody familiar was speaking to me. I couldn't even hear them.

I look forward to seeing you again, my dearest...

I cried and tried to throw the letter from me, it went little distance and fluttered to the floor as paper is inclined to do. It didn't matter. I was already onto another before it even hit the ground.

"Archer? Why on earth did you come dashing-" An abrupt pause and sharp intake of breath. Magnus' voice had cut in through whatever soundproof bubble I'd made myself, "Camille? Darling?"

I stood, quickly, shaking and glaring daggers into his daemon eyes.

"Do not call me Darling" I spat, my head bent low and my forgotten hair in disarray around it. My hands were balled into fists and gripping one of the letters to my chest. My heart.

Magnus looked at me in his soft kind of way and took a few long, calm strides across the room. He placed a hand on either one of my shoulders.

"Camille..." He said again, concern laced into his smooth voice, he glanced down between my hands, apparently seeing the insignia on the paper he continued; "the Pretor Lupus... From Mr Scott, then, Camille? Is that what got you so worked up?"

"Shut up!" I snapped. He was trying to comfort me, but at the time all I heard was condescending. "You stole me from him! All I have of him is my memory and you won't let me remember!"

He looked taken aback, but remained resolute in staying composed. Far more so than I was. Looking back I can hardly stand to think how I lost my control. "Come now, that isn't fair. You don't have to forget, Camille... I never wanted that. That's what you wanted..."

I sniffed.

"Not anymore... That isn't what I want anymore..." My grip began to loosen on the now rumpled sheet. I looked at that instead of Magnus and began to fumble with it in an attempt to make it straight again.

"Then that's alright. It's fine." He soothed. One of his hands left my shoulder and began stroking my hair comfortingly. When the letter was un-creased as it would ever be I looked back to his face. He didn't seem angry at me for shouting at him. I saw sympathy, and I saw love.

I suddenly felt ashamed of myself and looked to the scattered notes around my feet.

"Shall we tidy up?" He suggested. I didn't feel able to speak so I nodded in response. Soon we were both on the floor replacing my letters in the drawer.

It took some time. We did it slowly, and I sometimes stopped to read one or two, with a lot more dignity this time. When it was done I was smiling sadly to myself, sat leaning against the end of the bed, beside the Warlock who stayed through it all.

"I didn't get to go to the funeral" I sighed, only half talking to my company.

"I know."

I looked at him inquisitively.

"Woolsey told me..." He clarified, "he didn't mean to leave you out, but he only just got control of the pack and was under some pressure-"

"They all hate me." I interrupted. I already knew this, I didn't need reminding. If they didn't hate me just by nature, then they hated me because they blamed me for what had happened.

"Woolsey doesn't. He-" I placed a finger over Magnus' lips.

"Please don't..." I took the finger down again and kissed him chastely, hoping that I could in some way atone for my uncharacteristic behaviour. There had been quite enough outbursts for the time being; no need for him to rouse up any more shocking displays of emotion from me.

"That means you don't hate me, then? You had me worried Camille..." He placed his hand over the one of mine I had resting on the floor. He rubbed his thumb over my skin in slow circles.

"I'd never hate you..." Though it was true at the time, I still found it hard to say, somehow. It made me feel too vulnerable.

"... Can I still call you Darling?" He was smiling jokingly now.

"If you're going to insist on it" I smiled back.

After the episode I had that day, I realised I couldn't be mad at myself for wanting to be happy. I couldn't be angry at Magnus for making me happy.

I was angry at De Quincy for what he did, though. He was going to pay.


	7. Win By Default - Camille's POV

**NOTE: I hate leaving these before a chapter but I wanted to give fair warning: This chapter is Camille's POV of my story 'Win By Default' (which inspired The Bones You Gave Me). It will read similarly, that is intentional. **

* * *

Magnus had a heavy book held open in his lap which didn't look all that interesting. In fact, it looked incredibly boring and filled with spells which didn't really concern me. They didn't concern him either; he hadn't really conjured it up to read it.

The ornate wooden clock on the mantle continued its steady rhythm, the hands moving but all else in the room remaining perfectly still.

He was watching me instead of his book page. Enamored, it would seem, by the glinting gems decorating my hair. The same green of my eyes. I stood by the fire - not too close, mind you - as though it would do a thing to warm my body. I stared into the flames for a few ticking seconds, and then at him, somewhat disappointed that our game had come to this.

"Take your feet from my table, Magnus. It's more antique than you are," I scolded him, glaring at the offending feet in question.

"I doubt that." He said, but duly moved them from the polished table to the floor as instructed.

"You won't escort me then? To the party?" I stated with a tone that I hoped was more curious than it was irritated. Couldn't have him knowing how it bothered me, could I?

"No, I have important spells to brush up on" He gestured to the book for emphasis. We both knew it wasn't true, but I smiled at him indulgently. I knew. Of course I knew. But I was going to let him have his way this once. "You'll have plenty of company, Darling."

"Not in the carriage", I sighed melodramatically as I walked behind his seat and towards the door. He didn't watch me go because he was pretending to read his silly book. I very nearly laughed.

I felt a little lonely when I reached the carriage but I knew that Magnus was refusing to come on principle. De Quincy, the host, was a despicable person, and his events were always unpleasant. I had to keep up appearances, though. I had a plan to take revenge for the pain he caused me; and if I suspiciously stopped attending his parties those plans would fail.

I could endure them, all the people I truly hated, if it meant some justice. De Quincy was killing people, not just the ones I loved. He was involved in some horrid business with somebody known as the Magister. The Nephilim would be sure to deal with them and I'd heard that they had a little shape shifter girl who would be of great use.

I'd devised a plan with them, that she would disguise herself as me to gain evidence and information from the inside. Then they would punish him.

It required Magnus' help too, I'd reminded him a number of times that as he was to guide my double on that evening he should show face more to make his appearance less suspicious. He'd not been responsive to my prodding. He didn't want to be there on any night a person would get murdered, just the one help would be there to stop it.

I'd not realised until that time that my new partner was so filled with morality. The Warlocks were a selfish sort, after all. Not that I couldn't relate.

My carriage pulled up in front of the grand building and I was helped out. Looking at it all made me feel revolted and sick to my stomach. I still walked in as if I owned those rooms.

The scent of freshly drawn blood was inviting, as I had done a number of times I played the part of the entertained party guest.

Who could suspect foul play of me when I continued to dance and chatter with that scum as though they were my very best friends? I wanted to set fire to each man who tried his hand at flirting with me but I responded politely all the same.

That was all horrid to endure, but the worst was pretending to enjoy the killings in the other room. My double would have to witness them, it had to be normal for me to go and observe. In all the years since I was turned the sight of blood had never left me so nauseated. Or was it the setting that threw me? The cheers and the jeers and the ill-contained excitement. Anybody in society who took so much pleasure in murder ought to be kept well away from the general public.

I went home each time distraught into Magnus' arms. He always waited up for me no matter how often I told him he needn't have.


	8. Time To Think

Several weeks had passed since I'd last seen my lover; the only familiar face that had been in my company was that of Walker who had dutifully accompanied me to St Petersburg. The Nephilim had failed disastrously in my plan for revenge against De Quincy and I had to leave my home, all the progress I'd made there, to go into hiding. Quite a few died in the haphazard battle the Shadowhunters had caused and now there was many a vengeful Night Child out for my throat. I had to get away, far away from anybody I might know. I'd yet to visit Russia, so that was the place.

I felt a touch guilty for leaving Magnus alone with Archer. He didn't know that I was leaving, much less where I was headed. I knew what it was like when your beloved never came home. And without any warning, too. At least I would return to him, eventually. In the meantime I was in a foreign country with few belongings. Luckily these things are easily dealt with by a Vampire with use of persuasion.

A lesson on persuasion for you, reader: When done right, a mundane will believe whatever you tell them to believe. Even an educated upper-class gentleman might, for example, come to think you're his mistress and subsequently keep you very well kept and even better hidden on a secluded, private estate.

I had him hire Walker as staff to attend on me.

I barely remember the man himself, save that he was fairly attractive. That and money were really my only criteria for choosing somebody to keep me accommodated. I mean, really, if you're going to be sleeping with somebody it may as well be somebody pleasant. But he didn't matter to me; it was ideal that he was often home with his wife and rarely at the estate. When he was around he prattled on and on in Russian and had to be constantly reminded to speak French or English to me. Preferably English, I didn't much mind when people butchered that language.

He was little more than a diversion. The same way the reading and card games distracted me when he was away. Recreational. Petty. I needed distraction in my life, without it I thought too much…

Too much about him.

I wished that I believed in God. Then I could believe in an afterlife where I would see my dear Mr Scott again. Though we were both Downworlders bound for Hell I knew that I would be in a fiery Heaven seeing him again.

But none of those things existed. I'd been dead once and I saw no rays of light nor blazing flames. I saw nothing. There was nothing to recollect between the moment I died and when I clawed myself from the ground. There was just a mound of dirt and a lot of blood.

I looked outside to the moon one clear St Petersburg evening, when my benefactor had gone on his way. I've always thought the moon was covetous. That it envied the sun enough to take its place at night. It was same moon that you saw no matter where you were. A constant presence.

My nails bit into the skin of my palms.

Sunlight came and went but even in the day you saw the moon. I had to live forever with the immortal moon, a petty replacement for the beautiful sun I once loved.

Forever without Mr Scott, who I had loved so dearly. My greatest love... Who I'd replaced with...

I shook my head but it didn't stop my thoughts.

I'd replaced him with somebody lesser but everlasting. Magnus was a good person, a fantastic lover. I was fond of Magnus, I was happy with him. Yet...

The mundane wasn't keeping me from missing Magnus. He was fulfilling Magnus' job. Keeping my mind away from the lover who'd been before him. Yes, the Warlock was infinitely better at it. But he wasn't the one who I was missing. What did that say about our relationship?

Before I'd left London I was being so careful not to fall in love him. It seemed I'd been successful. Looking at my own eyes in the window pane I found that they were filled with sorrow. Why didn't I want to fall in love again?

It was for his safety. I was keeping my clan from harming him.

Was I?

It was for my safety. I couldn't risk giving anybody that hold over me again.

Could I?

I looked at the glinting red of the necklace that was his love token and in that moment I realised how foolish I'd been. Pretending that Magnus wasn't important publically didn't have to mean I had to toy with him so behind closed doors. I did want to fall in love again and I knew that Magnus would never hurt me.

I called for Walker to help pack my things and rushed to dress myself. I had to get home.

Excitement filled me like a deep breath. I would go home to him. I would give into what I felt just like I had with Mr Scott. Ignite the spark I'd first felt with him, we would fall in love and I'd be happy again. Truly, completely and at long last.

"Walker, my laces." I urged. He dropped the box he'd been holding and came straight to my aid.

Thank goodness I didn't breathe, or lacing up would have taken far more effort. When he was finished he went to retrieve my dress.

"I can do it, the travel bags need seeing to," I instructed. Perhaps I didn't need to be so hasty, but, Reader, time to think is time to reconsider. I didn't have the time for that.

The night was still young when all was prepared and I quickened down the staircase, bumping unexpectedly into the master of the house. Swiftly, I hooked one of his legs from under him and watched him topple gracelessly down the staircase. His body made a sickening crack at the bottom and I stepped over it hastily before blood could ooze onto the floor and the hem of my dress.

Harsh? Maybe so. But I couldn't allow him to go about gossiping. I may be against murder for sport but I'm not above killing when there is a need.

Satisfied that it simply looked as though the man had had an unfortunate fall I left the place like I was never there.

I should never have been there.


	9. There Is Always Pride

When I returned home I was greeted with the scent of blood, daemon ichor and sunlight. Nephilim. The very reason I'd had to flee London in the first place was just beyond the parlor door. Magnus was out of sight and Archer looked uncharacteristically dismayed to see me.

This of course was not the homecoming I'd had in mind when I left St Petersburg

Mentally preparing myself for the worst, I opened the door to see a dazed Shadowhunter in torn eveningwear spread out on the settee. William Herondale, the handsome one with the blue eyes who Magnus had taken a liking to. Had I time before entering the room to make a list of things I'd expected to find there; that would have been fairly low down on it. Though in hindsight it was probably the most logical reason an injured 'underage' Nephilim would be in my home and not one of the Clave. Magnus was unusually charitable for a Warlock and if the boy were in danger he would have helped him to survive.

Why he had to help him over the expensive furniture was another matter entirely.

I took off my gloves and set them down. "Magnus." I said as he watched me. "Did you miss me?"

He got irritable then. I acted amused.

Yes, I'd arrived wanting to bridge the gap in our relationship, but I'd wanted to do a great many things. None of those things involved becoming emotional in front of a Nephilim guest who I didn't even invite; whether he was lovely or not.

"…Every night I lay here on your sofa and waited to hear you step in the hall…" Said Magnus. My heart went out to him, truly, it did. So much so that I couldn't possibly tell him where I'd been. Not yet anyway. I didn't want to tell him, to upset him. But he knew that I was lying. And something in his tone reduced my desire to apologise.

He had tracked me.

"Ca m'est égal." I told him when he asked how I felt about his jealousy. I told him that the Russian was dead. "He hardly represents competition for you. You must let me have my little diversions, Magnus."

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise I shall become extremely cross."

I internally cursed William just for being there while I tried to act offhand. It was dangerous enough for me to be back in London, let alone for me to make my private love affair a public declaration.

Explanation would have to wait. And the longer I continued to act like I didn't care, the less I had to act.

"What of pity? Compassion? Love? Or do you not feel that emotion?"

"I _love_." I said indignantly. Something in me gave way then, releasing a flood of philosophy I wasn't even sure I held. I wanted to stop arguing. I didn't return so that we could argue. The words kept coming though. "You are devoted to me; you have said so yourself. Your devotion will simply have to suffer my diversions, and then we shall rub along quite pleasantly. If not, I shall drop you. I can-not imagine you want that."

_Say you do not want that. _

If he only stayed so that I could give him an explanation... Ask him to love me again. I might have given all of me to him. Instead he made it very clear that he'd moved on with the Nephilim boy. The Warlock had the gall to scold me for the relations I'd had abroad while his latest conquest lay in my house. At least _I_ had the decency to be discrete.

Dead heart contracting I turned the two of them out on the street before any more could be said or done. I felt angry. I felt foolish. And still angrier that he had made me feel foolish. I couldn't be seen like that by them or anybody else. In spite of it all I had my pride. That was all which was left of me without love.

I spent only a moment watching them through the curtain. I didn't know how I hadn't noticed sooner. Not that Magnus was the sort to be unfaithful - that he hid rather well – but the nature of his attraction to me. Magnus liked what was beautiful and broken. Anything which he could fix. I'd been his project and without me there he'd moved on. I felt sick thinking about it and gripped the ruby at my neck tightly. Surely not? Yet it seemed so obvious now.

He was there for me when he thought I'd needed him, that was love, wasn't it? I glanced at Archer and Walker as they silently cleaned up the mess the others had left. For all my talk about controlling distance, setting boundaries... I was just as confused as they were when it came to love.

Did they serve me out of love or love out of servitude? Did Magnus love me enough to look after me or was loving me just a part of his care package? Could love really be so fickle and conditional?

No. It lasted. I knew it lasted. It endured. It had to.

"Accept it." I told myself, shaking as emotion threatened to take hold again.

The Subjugates looked concerned; they wanted to help. I doubted that they could even if I had wanted them to.

A lesson had been learned that night. There were things in this life which I would need to go through alone. Things I couldn't just distract myself into forgetting no matter how much easier it became that way. In the end failing to deal with the pain in my life had only caused me more pain.

The chain of the necklace pulled taught against my neck. It snapped.

"Bare it." I choked as the two golden threads fell over my hand. "Alone."


	10. The End

I think that the worst part about the losses of 1878 was the lack of closure. There was something about it all which was unfinished, incomplete. Shortened life in a world where I lived forever. Relationships over while my heart was still in them.

Victorian London wasn't the time for love. Not the time for us. But if nothing else I had time.

I heard on the grapevine one day that William Herondale was married with children. There was something satisfying about knowing it hadn't worked out for him and Magnus either. Nor Magnus' ill-conceived relationship with the other Scott brother. I got the feeling that latter relationship was embarked on purely to spite me.

I waited before I saw Magnus again. I was determined to be past the hurt I'd felt in the 1800's before our next real encounter. I wanted to be better, stronger.

When the Nephilim have you strapped to a pillar it's as good a time as any to call in a favour from an old flame.

"Pretty boys were always your undoing." I'd noted when he arrived with the Lightwood son on his arm.

It wasn't without humor that I saw his black hair and blue eyes. Unlike William this one held himself awkwardly. Alexander looked ill at ease hearing what I had to say. The Warlock was his first love; that much was obvious. All this made him a likely case for a project-seeker like Magnus.

Seeing how easy it would be; I made a decision then and there to break them.

True love cannot die, dear Reader, but it can be changed. And there is, in fact, a quote I heard once in the theatre.

_Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned._

And scorned I was, sat alone, truly alone. No subjugates or servants, no clan, no lovers. Drinking in the scent of the cut grass and petrol. Remembering how I'd loved.

Because I'd loved, dear Reader, you know that I have. I don't deserve to be alone.

...Do I?


End file.
